Clubhouse North America
by Kishiro Kitsune
Summary: Alfred does something dumber than usual and it's up to Matthew to rescue him! Unfortunately he has to avoid Francis and the rest of his crazy neighbours in the process.


For **4meggie** on quizilla, who requested this~!

**Clubhouse North America**

Mattie was on a mission. As the best friend of Al, it was his duty to bail him out of any and all trouble he found his way into. Of course, it went the other way as well. Al never passed up an opportunity to play the role of hero and rescue his 'best friend forever'.

The only difference was that, for once, Mattie wasn't on a mission to rescue his friend from the clutches of evil, but to scold him for deserting him in the middle of their game of hide and seek. He knew Al had a short attention span, but to actually forget about him while he was hiding was unforgivable.

Seven-year-old Mattie marched up to the tree house in his neighbour's yard. Two flags flapped in the summer breeze; one the red-white-and-blue American flag and the other the red-and-white Canadian flag. The sign above the door read "Clubhouse North America".

"Al!" Mattie yelled. "Al! Put down the ladder!"

As he expected, he didn't hear a response. With a sigh, he walked underneath the tree house and tugged on a lever Mr. Jones rigged up for them, which released the rope ladder. When he reached the top, he found Al sitting on the floor reading comics.

Al beamed, his sky blue eyes lighting up in joy when he saw his friend. He excitedly tossed aside his comic book. "Mattie! My mom packed sandwiches and juice boxes so we can sit up here for lunch."

Just like that, Mattie forgot about his anger in the face of his best friend's smile.

* * *

><p>Breathe in.<p>

Breathe out.

_Focus_, Mattie.

He was almost there. If he could just reach it without being caught, then things would be fantastic. All he had to do was get out from the bushes and run through three backyards and he would be okay.

Mattie cautiously peered out from the bushes, his violet eyes darting around, trying his best to take in everything. So far he hadn't run into anyone who might detain him, whether they did it knowingly or not. Even better, the German neighbour's dogs were sleeping inside, hiding away from the suffocating summer heat.

Slowly, he crawled out from the bushes. With a final look around, he began the long sprint across the backyards, dodging around some toys and leaping over others, ignoring the complaints and cooing of his neighbours.

His hands hit the rope ladder before he knew it, yanking him to a stop. He quickly climbed it, his feet slipping in his haste. It felt like minutes had passed before he was finally able to pull himself up into the old tree house.

A box was tipped onto one side, its contents spilling across the slightly warped wood floor. Once-bright comics, some in plastic wrappers, greeted Mattie's eyes, as well as plastic army men, some with crinkled parachutes.

He ignored them. They weren't what he was there for.

His gaze landed on a bundle of pinkish-white and he let out a relieved sigh. It was there just like he thought it would be. He grabbed it and turned back the way he came, scaling down the rope ladder far faster than he had ascended.

Mattie's feet hit the ground and he turned around to look at his surroundings, keeping an eye out for anyone who might hinder him in his quest. So far there was no one. It seemed everyone was content to stay in the cool air conditioning of their homes. Good. That made things easier for him.

He traveled back across the green lawns, subconsciously picking up his pace when Mr. Beilschmidt's dogs began barking at him through the windows. He slid back under the bushes, settling among the prickly branches while he caught his breath.

He was almost free. Once he got out of the neighbourhood, everything would be fine and there was no one he needed to avoid. Outside of the neighbourhood, he was unnoticeable to practically everyone.

Mattie took the time he needed to catch his breath. It was a five minute run from Hetalia Boulevard to the park and he wouldn't have time to stop along the way. Peering through the bushes, he prayed his parents wouldn't catch him as he was leaving.

After a few deep breaths, Mattie crawled out from the bushes and dashed across the street, racing for the park.

* * *

><p>Years later, Matthew Williams found himself going through those events for a second time, everything made more awkward by his height. He cursed to himself the fact that 'Clubhouse North America' was so old and brittle to the point it was falling apart and that he nearly broke through the floor when he climbed up to retrieve the object that his best friend had (stupidly) stolen for a second time. He cursed the fact that it was early spring and that the Beilschmidt's dogs were outside, ready to chase him down if he dared cross into their territory. (He really needed to have a talk with Gilbert about that. He was tired of getting knocked over and licked in the face whenever he paid them a visit.) He cursed the fact that, as he got older, people actually noticed him, especially the perverted Frenchmen currently outside taking care of his flourishing rose garden.<p>

Most importantly, he cursed Alfred F. Jones, who was his best friend in all the world and the one who got him into those situations.

At that moment, he was more worried about getting past Francis without being stopped than he was about the welfare of Alfred. Alfred would survive no matter how long he took. Matthew, on the other hand, would rather not get stopped by Francis again.

Ever.

Okay, maybe not _ever_, but sitting down to a fabulous meal with his flirtatious and rather handsome neighbour was not part of his plans for the day. Rescuing Alfred from his stupidity was, and that was all he wanted to concentrate on.

"One thing at a time, Matthew," he reminded himself. His violet eyes narrowed in focus. "Remember your game plan. Step one, retrieve object. Step two, return object. Step three, get Alfred back and smack him around a bit for being a dumbass. Above all, avoid one Francis Bonnefoy. And Gilbert Beilschmidt too, for added measure." He nodded and then sighed heavily. "I've been spending way too much time with Alfred if I'm actually talking to myself."

After a few minutes of boosting his confidence and preparing for the run to the park, Matthew spotted Francis packing up his hand pruners and heading inside. With one obstacle out of the way, he felt ready. The second Francis shut the door behind him, he scooted out from beneath the bushes, taking time to pull branches free from his clothing and hair.

Throwing caution to the wind, he took off running…

…just in time to hear a gleeful bark and Ludwig's alarmed shout as his golden retriever broke free and began chasing him down.

_GodfuckingdammitGilbert,_ was Matthew's last thought before the seventy-pound dog slammed into his back, thankfully knocking him into the grass instead of the harsh pavement of the road. His glasses flew from his face, landing several feet away, but he kept a tight hold on the precious bundle of cloth he'd retrieved from the tree house.

After licking his face and arms and legs and every other space of exposed skin on Matthew's body, the exuberant dog finally listened to her master's calls and bounded back over to him.

Matthew took a moment to sit up and reorient himself. Wondering why his vision was so blurry, he reached up to straighten his glasses, only to find they weren't there. The realization prompted him to feel around in the grass for them and it wasn't long before his fingers came across something that wasn't grass.

Unfortunately it wasn't his glasses either.

It was a shoe.

A rather nice looking shoe attached to a pair of very nice legs and…

Matthew let that train of thought derail right there as he looked up at his French neighbour, the one person he'd been trying to avoid at all costs.

_Fuck._

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later, a disheveled Matthew made it to the park at last. He passed by the swing set and jungle gym, as well as all of the other playground equipment, instead going to the shed where a tall man with silvery-blond hair was standing.<p>

It'd taken him ten minutes to get his glasses back and another ten to extract himself from Francis's grasp. (Who knew the Frenchman was so strong?) Once he finally broke free, he didn't have time to consider pacing himself for the run, he just took off, his breathing erratic and his steps uneven.

Matthew gasped for air as he slid to a stop, holding out the bundle of pinkish-white to the taller man.

Violet eyes, somewhat darker than Matthew's own, lit up in happiness. "Thank you, comrade!"

"N-no problem, Ivan," Matthew spoke between gasps.

Ivan wrapped the scarf around his neck, nuzzling into it a little before turning amused eyes back onto Matthew. "You are tired from a little run?"

Matthew shook his head. "S-stuff happened. Got knocked over by a dog. Francis caught me. Crazy shit."

Ivan chuckled. He'd heard about Matthew's neighbours on more than one occasion. It always amused him how open the normally quiet Canadian got after a hockey game. It was better than trying to get him drunk! "Sounds fun. So, Jones is safe, just like I promised. He's inside."

"Okay." Matthew stood up straight, ready to march in and scold Alfred while untying him from the chair Ivan had doubtlessly bound him to.

Ivan pulled open the door and together the two walked inside, only to find something unexpected.

"...and that was how I saved the world!" Alfred exclaimed to an enthralled crowd. He paused upon noticing Matthew and Ivan standing in the doorway and grinned at his best friend, his sky blue eyes beaming with happiness. "Hey, Mattie!"

Just like all those times before, Matthew forgot about his anger in the face of his best friend's smile.

* * *

><p>End<p>

* * *

><p>Aaaaannnnd request number 2 is finally finished after me procrastinating and changing my mind about how to write it for two weeks!<p>

The request was: Al does something more stupid than usual and gets dragged off somewhere and Mattie has to rescue him while getting him out of trouble.


End file.
